Wednesday's Children
by Hoshi-tachi
Summary: A story of orphans, escaped convicts, and a secret, for Wednesday's children are full of woe...
1. A Sinister Prologue

**Title:** Wednesday's Children  
**Author:** hoshi-tachi

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_For Wednesday's Children are full of woe…

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First of all- if you have come to this place expecting to hear a happy story, you are in the _wrong_ place.

The story I am about to tell is a very unpleasant one. It is the story of an unhappy home, a terrifying cult, and a frightful destiny. It contains not one, but _two_ escaped convicts, of varying guilt, and four of the most beleaguered orphans you will ever come to know.

My name is Lemony Snicket, and this is the story of Violet Baudelaire, her brother Klaus, her sister Sunny, and, of course, Harry Potter…

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**Disclaimer**: I own neither _Harry Potter_, nor Lemony Snicket's _A Series Of Unfortunate Events._


	2. I: The Intended Guardian

**Warnings and Disclaimers:** None I can think of at the moment, except to say "Thank God for Nikki and the HP Lexicon!"

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Klaus sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and leaned his head against the window as the man at the wheel chattered on. In the front seat, his sister Violet looked as though she wanted to do the same, but was far too polite, and Sunny simply chewed nervously on the plastic rattle Mr. Poe had given her when he picked them up from the hospital. It was already looking much the worse for wear, but then, most things did, once his baby sister got her teeth into them.

"-Really, children, you _do_ need to stop being so hard on your guardians. It's getting rather difficult to find new ones. Mrs. Ackart seemed to be a perfectly nice woman-"

"If you excuse the fact that she was utterly obsessed with cleanliness," Violet interrupted civilly, and Klaus could tell it was taking genuine effort for her to keep her voice level. But then, she was probably as tired of dealing with Mr. Poe as he was. The man meant well, he really did, but the boy was beginning to wonder if there was anyone in the world more clueless than the banker. "Sunny isn't even two yet! You can't expect her to know she isn't supposed to play in the dirt."

"_Maybe if I'd wiped my feet before I came inside she wouldn't have had that nervous breakdown..."_

Klaus couldn't help a tired smile at the meaningless gabble that poured from his sister's mouth in the seat beside him. He couldn't wait until she learned to talk. He had the feeling what she had to say would be _very_ interesting.

"Yes, well…" For once, Mr. Poe was at a loss for words.

"So where are we going this time?" The almost-thirteen-year-old boy asked, not bothering to lift his head from the window. Violet might have almost-unlimited reserves of patience and good manners to draw upon, but he was made of less stern stuff.

"Er, Surrey," the banker said, glancing at him in the review mirror. "There's a woman there that, well…" He cleared his throat embarrassedly. "You see, we've only just found your parents' will-"

_That_ brought Klaus' head up. "_What_! I thought they didn't leave one!"

Mr. Poe winced. "Apparently it was misfiled, or… or perhaps it was deliberately misplaced. We are still investigating it."

Klaus leaned back in his seat, stunned. Sunny grasped his hand with her own, giving him a reassuring four-toothed smile.

Their parents _hadn't_ abandoned them…

Mr. Poe continued. "Anyway, your parents' will stated that, in the event of their untimely deaths, you were to be given over to Sunny's godmother until you reached your legal majorities."

Violet glanced back at him, startled, and was met by his own confused face. "Sunny… has a godmother?" she asked slowly and almost incredulously.

The banker nodded his head, light glinting off his glasses. "Indeed. I understand she was appointed after Sunny's birth, while your parents were traveling. I'm not quite sure of the circumstances, but when I spoke to her over the telephone she was quite willing to take you in."

"And… this is where our parents _wanted_ us to go?" Klaus asked, leaning forward.

Mr. Poe nodded again. "Yes. The will was quite clear on that. You three are now the wards of Mrs. Arabella Figg."

-

The dark-haired boy dug deeper into the dry soil, feeling a pang from the sunburn on the back of his neck as he leaned forward a bit over his work. He pushed the accumulated dirt away from the hole, and reached off to the side for plastic carton of flowers Aunt Petunia had ordered him to plant.

He was fairly sure they were chrysanthemums, but all he knew was that his aunt wanted them to be healthy and blooming brightly when Uncle Vernon's sister Marge said she might be coming for a visit. Of course, it wasn't likely the foul woman would even notice, given that she seemed to only ever pay attention to something when it was imperfect, but even so, he still had to be out here slaving away under the hot sun.

…Okay, so that was a bit overly dramatic, but Harry blamed sunstroke. He _had_ been out here for a couple of hours, after all.

He sat up on his heels and tried to rub away the sweat on his forehead with the back of one hand. When the hand came down, though he didn't know it, there was a streak of dirt left on his skin, one that nearly covered the strange, lightning-bolt-shaped scar in the center of his forehead; the scar that, for far too many people, defined who he was.

The Boy-Who-Lived, the childhood savior of the wizarding world, and the now three-time survivor of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Not that anyone would have recognized him as such, sitting there in oversized hand-me-downs and covered with sweat and dirt. But then, here in the muggle world he wasn't a savior, famous and "beloved" by many- here, he was just Harry Potter, a twelve-year-old boy who, according to his family, attended a school for delinquent boys.

It was days like this when he _truly_ missed Hogwarts, even though it seemed every time he attended the school he took his life into his own hands.

With a sigh Harry started to get back to work, when the sound of a car engine made him look up and back towards the street. To his surprise, given that there was almost never anyone around at this time of day, he saw a car headed up the street towards him.

A few moments later the car had passed by, a pale face looking out at him for a brief second, and then Harry was staring after it curiously as it turned onto Wisteria Walk, two streets down.

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A/N: First, this takes place in Harry's third year. Mutters to herself about finding a copy of the third book. Second, I realize this is much shorter than my normal chapter length, but for this story that's somewhat intentional. I think it'll be easier for me to keep true to the style if I don't have to plan out two-thousand-word chapters.

Hopefully, the Baudelaires are in character- I've never read the books, and got the idea for this after seeing the movie.

Can't really think of anything else to say, except that I'm currently bouncing up and down at the thought that both the release of the sixth book and my seventeenth birthday are only _thirteen_ days away! I think this is the first time I've been rooting for Rowling since she killed Sirius…

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_Our most sincere gratitude to_ **Alara**** Moonrunner** (Yep…), **Crysania**** Fay**, **Gryffindorkium** (Blushes I'll try not to…), **Mithros** (Don't bother, I'm going off the movie for this…), _and_ **Sweetest Thang** (Quite simply, dear- I'm evil.) _for reviewing.

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03 July 2005


	3. II: The Slandered Child

_Warnings and Disclaimers:_ Not really much to say, is there? Except for the idiot alert...

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Arabella Figg had a lot of cats.

There were shorthaired and long, purebreds and strays, calicos and tortoiseshells and marmalades. They were everywhere you looked, and liked to follow you around, their steps measured with the dignity only a cat could possess. They couldn't be counted, even, because some would be there one day and then gone the next, only to reappear the day after with a smug "Guess where _I've_ been?" look on their faces.

Still, though, Klaus found it comforting. If their newest caretaker hadn't had some kind of neurosis, _then_ he would have worried. Neighborhood cat lady was nothing compared to some of the last adults charged with their care.

Especially since other than the pets she kept, Mrs. Figg ("Call me Arabella, dear," but Klaus was still a bit uncomfortable around her) seemed the best of their guardians to date, except for poor Uncle Monty. She'd only seemed a little surprised the first time she'd found Sunny chewing, though Klaus had taken careful note of the thoughtful way she looked at the deep tooth marks in the fork.

The two older Boudelaire children were mostly left to their own devices, which suited them just fine. Violet buried herself in her room, which she shared with Sunny, inventing to her heart's content while Klaus had a few books he'd bought with his allowance, and permission from Mrs. Figg to walk down to the library a mile away whenever he wanted so long as he told someone where he was going.

It was on one of those trips that he met a younger boy named Mark Evans. Mark lived on Magnolia Crescent, a street over, but he liked to play in the park during the summer. He was the one who showed Klaus around the neighborhood and warned him about the local gang, a group of boys Klaus's age who liked to run around beating up those weaker than themselves and doing poorly-designed graffiti, and who were led by a boy named Dudley Dursley. Mark showed him all the best places to hide from them for some peace and quiet, but by far Klaus's favorite was the little area in back of the park where the swing set was. He found it to be a great place to just sit and think.

The summer was unusually warm, so it was rare to find people outside, and only once did he ever find anyone already sitting on a swing. Klaus just shrugged and would have joined him, but Mark grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go. "What is _wrong_ with you?" Klaus finally hissed after a minute of tug-a-war.

"You can't go over there!" the boy replied, his eyes wide and frightened. "That's _Harry Potter_!"

Klaus blinked. "And who the blazes is Harry Potter?"

Mark shivered. "He's a _criminal_," he whispered. "Everyone knows about him. He goes to a school for incurably criminal boys. My dad told me to stay away from him, and if he ever talked to me to tell Dad right away."

Klaus glanced again at the slumped figure swinging listlessly in the distance. He didn't _look_ that dangerous… "What did he do?"

Mark gave him a blank look. "Do?"

"You know, what crime did he commit? The one that 'everyone knows about'?" Klaus had to sigh as the other boy only shrugged. So much for everyone knowing. Maybe he'd ask Mrs. Figg about it later.

Yeah, so it was none of his business, but something about the situation smelled fishy. And if there was one thing the Boudelaire children shared, it was a more-than-healthy dose of curiosity.

-

He decided to bring up the conversation during dinner that night. Violet fed Sunny her dinner with that abstract look on her face that said, while her body might be at the table, her mind was somewhere in the bowels of an invention. Mrs. Figg set the table with an excellent pot roast that Klaus spent the first few minutes eagerly devouring.

The fourteen-year-old's chance came when his guardian asked him how his day had gone. "Well…" he began, suddenly picking at his food as his interest was directed elsewhere. "I saw a boy in the park today. Mark wouldn't let me go talk to him. He said the boy's name was Harry Potter, and that he was some sort of criminal-"

There was a loud _bang_, as Mrs. Figg angrily smacked her glass down onto the table. "That is a vicious lie, and I'll _not_ have you repeating such in this house!" she said, her eyes flashing. It was the first time she'd been anything but pleasant in their presence, and all three of the children watched her with wide eyes. "Harry Potter is the only good apple out of a family of bad ones. I've no idea how _those people_ managed to raise a boy like that, I truly don't."

The woman bent her head to her meal, savagely cutting into her roast. "Harry's a sweet boy, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a damn fool," she told her plate.

"_Sounds like there are an awful lot of fools around here, then."_

"So you know this Harry, then?" Violet asked over her sister's gabbling. She might never have met the child, but she couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards anyone who was treated in such a way without doing anything to deserve it.

Mrs. Figg nodded, seeming to regain some of her calm. "Whenever that family of his has to go somewhere, they usually leave him with me. I don't mind, he's always very polite, but if whatever they're off to has even an element of fun in it, they refuse to take him along."

Klaus could feel a frown spreading over his face. "You keep mentioning his family. Who are they?"

Their guardian grimaced. "The Dursleys. They live on Privet Drive."

Klaus knew that name. "Dursley, as in that porker Dudley who runs around beating up anyone who's smaller than he is?" This was most everyone who wasn't at least a couple of years older than the brat, considering just how much he massed.

Mrs. Figg's lips tightened. "That awful child. He nearly ran me over with his bike once, did you know? And me hobbling about with a broken leg at the time, too."

Klaus picked at his slice of roast, taking a bite as he thought about that lonely, contained boy on the swing. "Would it be all right if I talked to him, ma'am?"

She blinked at him for a moment, startled, before smiling with pleasure. "It'd be more than all right, Klaus. In fact, why don't you invite him over for tea? It's been a bit since he's come over."

The boy nodded. "I'll do that," he assured her, and then bent back to his dinner with a new gusto. Tomorrow he'd look for Harry in the park again, maybe take a stroll along Privet Drive. It shouldn't be that hard to find him.

And then it'd be time to make a new friend.

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A/N: Among my other faults, such as laziness and procrastination, comes a certain gift for literary necromancy. Of course, that also means a certain penchant for letting stories die first…

My gratitude to everyone who reviewed.

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4 June 2006


	4. III: The First Approach

**Warnings and Disclaimers:** Three quotes from _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ that I don't own.

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Klaus set out in search of the Potter boy early the next morning. There was no sign of him in the park, or in the streets surrounding it, and finally he had to check back in with Mrs. Figg to find out the Dursleys' exact address.

It was almost noon when he came to 4 Privet Drive and found his quarry trimming the flowerbeds along the driveway. Like the day before, he was dressed in clothes much too big for him, the shirt falling over him like a circus tent, and the jeans with ragged hems and cinched tight with a belt. Klaus leaned against the mailbox, not so patiently waiting to be noticed.

It didn't take long before the other boy paused in his work and looked up, fixing Klaus with wary green eyes behind thick glasses. He didn't say anything, though, and after a minute of uncomfortable silence Klaus realized he would have to take the initiative. "Hello," he said quietly.

There was a considering pause before he received a reply. "Hi," Potter said, just as quietly.

Klaus took that as an invitation, and came forward to sit cross-legged on the lawn, just a few feet from the boy. "I'm Klaus. Klaus Baudelaire."

He held out his hand, and with less of a pause as he seemed to relax a bit, Potter reached out to take it. "Harry Potter."

"Mind if I call you Harry?" Klaus beamed as he got a tiny headshake in return. This was really going much easier than he'd thought it would, even with as shy as the other boy was. Which he perfectly understood, with the help of _Human Growth and Development: the Childhood Years_ and _Integrative Processes and Socialization: Early to Middle Childhood_, two books he'd read during the last couple of years. With the entire neighborhood against him, Harry would be both unused to interacting with others his age, and more than a little lonely because of it.

The other boy shifted position, drawing Klaus out of his thoughts. "Oh, right. My sisters and I are staying with Mrs. Figg for a while, and she wanted me to ask you to come to tea later on."

"…I'll have to ask my relatives," Harry said, with the first complete sentence Klaus had heard out of him. Klaus nodded, and the green-eyed boy rose, brushing his hands off on his clothing.

His trip inside the house didn't take very long, and when Harry came out he offered Klaus a small, but genuine smile. "I can come after my chores are done."

Klaus grinned back, climbing to his feet. "Great. I'll go tell her."

-

Four o'clock passed without any sign of the boy, but before the clock hit five there was a quiet knock on the door. Arabella Figg bustled over to open it, to find Harry standing on the other side in what she had a feeling was his best clothing, even worn and faded as it was. She'd never seen him in better, and the woman felt a spasm of anger at the thought of the Dursleys buying their son anything he wanted, and giving Harry nothing but the leftovers.

She dearly hoped the children wouldn't hold it against him, though from what she'd come to known of them in the few days they'd had together, the thought wouldn't even cross their minds.

"Hello, Harry," Arabella told him, smiling. "It's good to see you again."

Harry smiled back, stepping inside. "Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Figg," he said, as polite as ever.

He was quiet as she led him to the sitting room, where the Baudelaires were waiting. Klaus looked up from his book and smiled at their entrance. "Hey Harry," he said, getting up from his chair. Violet stood as well, holding Sunny by the hand as she studied the new arrival.

"_He looks nice,"_ Sunny announced in garbled baby talk, pulling away from her sister and almost running over to Harry. She looked up into the boy's face for a few moments, and then gurgled a laugh. "_He's nice."_

Her siblings watched in surprise as she held out her arms to be picked up. It wasn't often that Sunny warmed to strangers, and even in those few cases, not nearly so quickly. Harry stared back at her with wide eyes, then looked around at them in pure bewilderment.

"She wants you to hold her," Violet said, taking pity on him as she stifled a giggle with one hand.

"Oh." Harry gave the toddler an almost nervous look, then leaned down to gingerly pick her up. She squealed happily.

"That's Sunny," Klaus told him. "She's almost two. And this is Violet."

Harry winced as Sunny reached up to tug on a lock of his messy hair. "Charmed, I'm sure," he said dryly, but didn't reach up to pull her hand away.

Arabella clapped her hands together. "Teatime, children. Klaus, come help me carry the trays."

-

Harry shifted, a little uncomfortable with the unaccustomed weight in his lap, but he wasn't about to shove off a toddler when sitting on him made her so happy. Even if her bouncing had twice already nearly made him drop his cup of tea.

The Baudelaires were… nice, he'd decided, gently fending off a grey tabby from his plate of biscuits. And very much a family; it was hard not to show just how envious that made him. They'd had a long conversation over tea in which they discovered they were all orphans, but after that a mutual reluctance to talk about their parents' deaths led to a change in topic.

At one point Klaus jumped up, muttering something about forgetting to feed Petunia. Harry blinked after him. "Petunia?"

"Our snake," Violet told him, and Harry tensed.

'_Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes?'_

'_Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, you're killing off students, you think it's good fun-'_

'_Make way, make way for the Heir of Slytherin!'_

"Are you all right?" Violet asked, frowning at him. "You look a little peaky…"

Harry was quick to shake his head. "I'm fine. My aunt's name is Petunia," he offered as a diversion.

The older girl studied him carefully, still frowning. "Harry… are you afraid of snakes? I can ask Klaus not to bring her in here…"

Afraid of snakes? No, not really. He'd been terrified of the basilisk, but that was because it was big, and deadly, and trying very hard to kill him. Afraid of what they stood for, though… In the end, he just shook his head again.

And then came the strangest part of the evening.

"Violet, girl, why don't you take Sunny while I go have a talk with Harry?" Mrs. Figg asked, setting down her teacup.

A bit startled, she complied, reaching out for her sister. Sunny pouted as Harry lifted her off his lap, but didn't make any more of a fuss than that. Mrs. Figg led the way into her kitchen.

"Harry, child, you know it's nothing to be ashamed of, don't you?" she demanded, rounding on him.

He stared at her, confused beyond words. "W-what is?"

"Parseltongue!"

Harry had never been so shocked in his life. The only thing that had ever come close was Hagrid's blunt announcement that he was a wizard.

Mrs. Figg covered her mouth when she saw how wide his eyes had grown. "Oh! I never told you, did I? I'm a Squib, child. Dumbledore asked me to come keep an eye on you until you went off to Hogwarts."

-

Neither of them realized Violet was standing just out of sight, listening intently with her hand over Sunny's mouth.

What in the world was a Squib? Or Hogwarts? Who was Dumbledore?

And why did Harry need to be looked after?

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A/N: Literary necromancy. Definitely my specialty. Though I have to wonder how many times you can raise a story from the dead…

Meh. Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to **shkspr** **1048**, for making me look at the last chapter and think, 'hey, it could go this way…'. All written in one day, to boot...

Hugs to everyone who reviewed and is still out there waiting.

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20 March 2007


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